Evil Dead: The Series 16: "... Slaying Song..."
by OmarSnake
Summary: the Evil Dead Christmas Special...


"Evil Dead: The Series" Episode 16  
  
"Oh What Fun It Is To Sing A Slaying Song Tonight"  
  
By: OmarSnake  
  
'Twas the night before Christmas, at the local S-Mart,  
  
A jam-packed madhouse with a full parking lot;  
  
In housewares, Ash Williams was doing his best,  
  
Despite having had just a few hours rest;  
  
Last-minute shoppers swarmed through the store,  
  
Buying the presents they neglected before;  
  
By the toy department, kids stood in a line,  
  
Waiting for a moment of Santa Claus's time;  
  
He wasn't really Santa, as you probably know,  
  
Just a fat guy who knew how to say "Ho Ho Ho";  
  
He'd been dressed in a suit and taught what to say,  
  
To make believe he was Santa, fresh off the sleigh.  
  
Ash thought this funny, that this drunk old slob,  
  
Could make fooling children a good-paying job;  
  
Truth be known, Ash was in the wrong line of work,  
  
His true-born duties he tried hard to shirk;  
  
Ash was a slayer, born to kill ghouls,  
  
Something rarely taught in our schools;  
  
He could be dense, but his skills were reknowned,  
  
And smart demons knew not to come to his town;  
  
Now, if all ghouls were cautious there'd be nothing to say,  
  
Because Ash would just work in housewares all day;  
  
Fortunately for us, those in search of a tale,  
  
From the parking lot there came a demon's wail.  
  
Customers looked up from their shopping spree,  
  
To find out what happened, but there was nothing to see;  
  
The front doors had opened, all on their own,  
  
And a cold wind blew in, chilling Ash to the bone;  
  
Gut instinct told him the Deadites were near,  
  
But there was no proof to go with his fear;  
  
He went back to his chores, keeping a careful eye,  
  
On customers and employees who would pass by;  
  
"Maybe it was just the wind," he said to himself,  
  
And resumed his job trying to straighten a shelf.  
  
Unseen to humans, a spirit did soar,  
  
Down the aisles of that S-Mart Store;  
  
Searching for a target, one to possess,  
  
So it could cause Ash Williams duress;  
  
Its vaporous trail went unnoticed by all,  
  
And they could not hear its banshee-like call,  
  
For it was a spectre, without bodily host,  
  
I guess that you'd call it an evil old ghost.  
  
It went up high, above the crowds below  
  
And its target it finally did know,  
  
It swooped down to Toys,  
  
Past girls and boys,  
  
It screamed with delight, its movements were quick  
  
As this creature possessed good old Saint Nick.  
  
Santa's eyes went wide, his grin went mad,  
  
It was easy to tell that he had gone bad;  
  
He threw back his head and let forth a yell  
  
That echoed in the store like thunder from Hell;  
  
Somewhere in housewares, Ashley did groan  
  
The nature of this noise was easily known;  
  
(To him at least, for the Deadites he'd fought  
  
Let out such noises as havoc they wrought)  
  
Ash raced that direction, against his own will,  
  
He hated the job, but there was a monster to kill;  
  
And over in toys, Santa stood tall  
  
Causing the child on his lap to fall  
  
And Santa did snarl, did howl and sneer,  
  
And waved a gloved hand at some plastic reindeer  
  
The reindeer had been propped there all day,  
  
With lightbulbs inside to make them seem bright and  
  
gay;  
  
Made of hollow cheap plastic, with minimal paint,  
  
Beside the seat of old Nicholas the saint;  
  
As demonized Santa waved his hand toward those deer,  
  
They rippled and twisted, and became things to fear;  
  
Their plastic was gone, replaced with coarse hair  
  
They eyes glowed like fire, and wickedly did stare;  
  
Flesh and muscle formed, muscular and tough,  
  
Along with spikes, antlers, and other jagged stuff;  
  
Where harmless toy reindeers stood seconds before,  
  
Were now demon beasts in the midst of the store.  
  
Evil St. Nick stood up on his chair  
  
Threw out his arms and said with some flair,  
  
"Now Thrasher, now Cancer, now Danger and Nixon,  
  
On Vomit, on Stupid, on Goner and Blitzkrieg,  
  
To the front of the store, and all through the mall  
  
Now kill them, yes kill them, let's kill them all!"  
  
Two shotgun blasts did rend the air  
  
The smoke cleared to reveal Ash standing there  
  
Shotgun in hand, scowl on his face,  
  
Ready to put Santa Claus in his place  
  
Ash studied that Santa, as if to comment on his clothes  
  
And said, "Hey, Saint Nick - how about I scratch your nose?"  
  
Santa stared at Ash and widely did grin  
  
"You've been naughty," he chanted again and again  
  
As the demon-deer circled around and around  
  
Eerily quiet, not making a sound  
  
Ash aimed his shotgun, blew off one's head  
  
It kept walking 'round, since it was undead  
  
(if a plastic deer could said to have been alive at all  
  
Which is a matter for debate I'd like to forestall)  
  
Ash eyed Santa, and Santa scowled and groaned  
  
"Now that was EXTRA naughty," he gutterally moaned  
  
He leapt through the air, this not-so-jolly elf  
  
And Ash was scared in spite of himself  
  
A big plastic candy cane St. Nick grabbed then  
  
And swung it like a club, to bash his head in  
  
Ash rolled backwards, to dodge the blows  
  
And brought the shotgun up under Santa's nose.  
  
"Now that's not something a nice boy would do,"  
  
Santa stammered, before his head blew to goo  
  
Ash shrugged, knowing his work was not done,  
  
And said "Naughty, nice, I'm the guy with the gun"  
  
Sure enough, the demon Santa stood up  
  
His blood-spattered face reduced to pulp  
  
Ash tackled Santa, they wrestled there on the floor,  
  
While customers continued to race out the door.  
  
A security camera caught this display  
  
And beamed it many, many miles away  
  
To a dark room in New York, in a tall tower  
  
Where Lajos Szabo watched a screen and did glower  
  
"These Deadites are becoming too hard to sway,"  
  
He said, low and menacing, as was his way.  
  
"They used to obey my every command  
  
But this is getting well out of hand."  
  
"This one's not so tough," Fisk pointed out,  
  
"All it does is flail, scream and shout,  
  
Why look, Ash has already killed another deer  
  
Before long the battle's end will be here."  
  
Oracle watched too, keeping her thoughts to herself  
  
As on the screen, Ash fought with the nefarious elf  
  
Back at the store, Ash slugged St. Nick's jaw,  
  
Which came off, leaving a huge gaping maw  
  
What was left of Santa's face started to twitch  
  
And he clawed at his head as if fighting an itch  
  
He flailed and he cried, though not losing his cap  
  
Blood vessels burst and muscles did snap,  
  
As a demon head tore through the poor Santa's face  
  
Growling and snarling and taking its place  
  
It was right ugly, boney and vile  
  
With glowing eyes and a wicked old smile  
  
Bat wings ripped from its back through its clothes  
  
Long claws tore through its gloves, through its boots razored toes  
  
It was still clad in red, still wearing the hat  
  
But it was nothing like Santa, I can tell you that  
  
It flapped its wings, taking to air  
  
And balefully at Ash Williams it did stare  
  
"I'll crush you into a lump of coal," the demon did say  
  
Ash fired a shot, blowing a bat wing away  
  
Demon Santa hit the ground, howling in pain  
  
And Ash fired at it, again and again  
  
The end of the battle, do I even need tell?  
  
It was Ash who stood, demon Santa who fell  
  
But Ash knew the Deadites were a wiley old bunch  
  
And he decided to chop it apart on a hunch  
  
"Hey, kid," he called to a scared little tyke  
  
Who had come to the store to gaze at bikes,  
  
"Go grab a chainsaw, and an extension cord or two  
  
I've got me some Christmas trimming to do."  
  
"But that's Santa," the kid said, eyes brimming with tears  
  
"No," said Ash, "it's a demon that feeds on your fears,  
  
The real Santa wouldn't try to maim and destroy  
  
Because he's a good guy, right, little boy?  
  
Santa is cheerful, friendly and wise,  
  
He has no bat wings with which he flies;  
  
Sure, this thing was dressed like Santa, down to its gloves  
  
But it knows nothing of Santa's kindness and love."  
  
The boy turned and ran, not running away  
  
But heading to hardwares to help Ash that day  
  
He came back with a chainsaw, which Ashley did use  
  
To chop Demon Santa into so much refuse  
  
And using garbage baggies from Aisle Number Three  
  
They separated the parts, which squirmed to get free  
  
Bags flung over their backs, to the incinerator they ran  
  
"Thanks for the help, kid," Ash said, "now you better scram."  
  
Out of the stock room the little boy did run  
  
While Ash stayed behind to make sure the demon was well-done  
  
Once the parts were all burned, Ash combed his hair back  
  
And headed out to put the shotgun back on its rack  
  
The customers that remained in the store all did stare  
  
Perhaps one or two of them even said a silent prayer  
  
Ash wiped his brow which had in battle perspired  
  
"Will it come back?" One woman inquired  
  
"I roasted its chestnuts, it won't be back,"  
  
Ash replied, "This is the end of the attack."  
  
The people did cheer, happy they still did live  
  
At this time of year, a season to give  
  
Ash had saved their lives, wiping out the demonic foe  
  
And he killed all the evil deers, be they buck or doe  
  
Demon Santa had wanted to kill one and all  
  
But he was the only one who did fall  
  
Quick thinking by Ash, and of course a shotgun  
  
Had cut short the Deadite's evil idea of fun.  
  
Ash looked around and politely did nod  
  
As the people continued to applaud  
  
Ash saw the little boy who had helped him right then,  
  
And said "Hey, Junior, good work, thanks once again.  
  
To show you I'm grateful, tell ya what I'll do,  
  
I'll buy a present for little old you.  
  
Just tell me what you'd like, and it's practically yours  
  
But don't be too greedy, 'cause I'm kinda poor."  
  
And so the little boy (whose name was Mike)  
  
Got what he wanted, a shiny new bike.  
  
Ash got off early and went home from his job  
  
Covered in blood and gore, he looked quite the slob  
  
But he knew that tomorrow Christmas Day would be here  
  
And it was a time for jolly old cheer  
  
His family was gathering, out in the suburbs  
  
A festive gathering Deadites best not not disturb  
  
It had been a tough day, and he had presents to wrap  
  
But first he needed a shower, and then a long nap.  
  
He did not know that even there in his place  
  
Was a hidden camera, in a smoke detector case;  
  
Away in New York, Mr. Fisk did grin wide  
  
"I told you he'd beat that Deadite," he cried  
  
"Of course he can beat them," Szabo said, his tone low and cold  
  
"That's why we need him, truth to be told.  
  
The Deadites know this, and they want him dead  
  
Before Y2K hits and things come to a head."  
  
As Ash walked into the bathroom and threw his clothes on a rack  
  
Szabo clicked a button, and the view screen went black.  
  
And so ends our story, of that Christmas Eve  
  
And this strained poem that I've tried to weave. 


End file.
